


Dance With Me

by obiwankenboneme



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obiwankenboneme/pseuds/obiwankenboneme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan is no dancer, but he's got to learn in order to be ready for Anakin and Padmé's wedding. Thanks to the reader, he's learning a few things, though not that much about dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Another beautiful AU sent in by one of my cubs. I'm not that knowledgeable on dance related things, so I kind of skimmed over those. I hope you all enjoy this one!

Laughing quietly to yourself, you circle Obi-Wan, shaking your head in dismay. His technique is completely wrong, and the girl he’s attempting to dance with looks as though she might die right there from embarrassment. With a gentle hand on her shoulder, you draw their attention to you.

“Ahsoka, why don’t you go and practice with one of the others? I’ll take on Mr. Kenobi here,” you offer.

You watch Ahsoka’s eyes light up, and she nods briskly as she parts from Obi-Wan, wandering over to one of the single dancers. Obi-Wan’s eyes linger on her retreating form before they are overtaken by your presence. Taking up her spot, you adjust Obi’s position and hand placement, making sure that one was on your hip and the other was in your hand. Staring him straight on, you smile sweetly. He doesn’t return it, which makes you roll your eyes at the poor man.

He gulps audibly, causing you to giggle. You push forward, starting in on the dance, trying to get him to follow your lead. His eyes dart to his own feet, but you quickly grab his chin, tilting it back up to look at you. His brow furrows, a complaint rising to the tip of his tongue as he stares at you. _He has some beautiful eyes._

“No worries Kenobi, I’ve got you. Don’t look at your feet, look at me and follow my lead. If you’re looking at your feet, you will only stumble.”

“If I _don’t_ look at my feet, then I will most likely fall on my ass,” he snips, eyes darting back down to the floor.

With a disgruntled huff, you drag his face back up to be eye level with yours. You don’t remove your hand from under his chin, which seems to do more harm than it does good; as Obi-Wan steps on your feet multiple times and does, in fact, land flat on his ass. Sighing down at him, you raise a brow, offering him your hand. He stares at it, seeming to decide against it as he pushes himself off the floor, dusting off his pants.

Anakin comes over, clearing his throat and pointing at the clock. Seeing the time, you nod, spinning on your heel away from Obi-Wan to address the other members of the wedding group. Your hands clap together, echoing in the practice room and making everyone’s eyes shoot to you. _It’s just like teaching a class, except with a bunch of older people._

“It seems the time for practice is up for today. I’ll be happy to see you all again in a few days. Have a nice night.”

Everyone sighs out a breath of relief, grabbing their things and flooding out of the room. While there weren’t that many – compared to the classes you taught – there were still enough to have a blockade happening when they try to leave at once. Shaking your head, you move over to your own bag.

You’re packing up, waving goodbye to the lingering people, when you stop Obi-Wan on his way out. There’s no one else in the room at this point, and it’s rather odd in your head that he would hang around so long. _He doesn’t even bring that much to lessons._ He’s shocked by the softness of your skin against his forearm, but merely turns to face you with a look of boredom. Standing with a hand on your hip, you give him a stern look that would make any other dancer cower. Your students knew you meant business when that happened, but all he knew was that you looked very pretty like that.

“You suck.”

The statement has his eyes widening in surprise. No one had ever so blatantly said something like that to him. It wasn’t like it was going to scar him, but _Christ_ , at least be a little considerate of his feelings.

“I’m not sugar coating it because that’s not who you are, Kenobi. More importantly, it’s not who I am. I want you to come back tomorrow for solo lessons. I’m not having my best friend’s wedding ruined because you can’t do a simple dance,” you state, pulling your bag over your shoulder and heading towards the door.

Obi-Wan gapes at you, jogging to catch you before you get in your car. His finger points right in your face, making you shake your head in contempt. “Now that’s quite rude! I wouldn’t _ruin_ my best friend’s wedding with my dancing! Why can’t you just teach me with everyone else? It’s not as if I’m _that_ bad!”

Throwing your bag into the backseat of your car, you spin around and push your hands against his chest lightly. Obi-Wan stumbles a little before catching himself, straightening his shirt. “Because everyone _else_ is well ahead of the game and don’t _need_ the lessons anymore. You barely even have the capability to stand without being pushed over. The next lesson is their last one before the wedding rehearsal. You are in no way ready for that. Have a good night Kenobi.”

You don’t listen to any more of his words as you climb into the driver’s side of your car and leave the studio. Obi-Wan huffs, crossing his arms and tapping his foot against the asphalt lot. He’s going to show you how much he needs those lessons.

* * *

 

“That’s the thirteenth time you’ve fallen on your ass today Kenobi. I’m a little disappointed, I would have thought you’d put more effort into this,” you taunt, looming over Obi-Wan as he lay on the floor. His eyes squint at you, and he scolds himself for thinking about how heavenly you look with the lights above filtering down on you.

He grumbles under his breath, standing and brushing himself off, getting into position again. You notice the way his muscles are tensed, a sigh exiting from between your lips as you place a hand up to stop him. Moving around to his back, you gently run your fingers over his taut muscles, feeling him tense up and then slowly begin to relax. Every inch of him was too stressed out, and you could understand why. There was only a week before the wedding rehearsal and he had been coming in for solo lessons for almost three.

Not a _thing_ had changed.

Obi-Wan was still absolutely dreadful when it came to dancing, and couldn’t keep his eyes on his partner. The few times you had managed to get him to focus on you, he stepped on your toes so badly that you worried they might have been broken.

“You’re so tense Kenobi. It doesn’t bode well for your dancing if you can’t let yourself relax,” you whisper.

“I have a first name, you do realize,” he counters, a small whine emitting from him when you press into his lower back. _Lots of tension right there._

With a sigh, you shake your head and move to stand in front of him again, patting his chest. “Yes, I realize. Come on _Obi-Wan_ , I’m going to give you a massage before we even _think_ about carrying on with this. Your body will hate you later for dancing with such tension.”

Passing up your bags, you nod towards the door, leading Obi-Wan into the “medical room”, as it was called. There was a sort of cot, and the odds and ends necessary for minor scrapes and bruises. A cabinet and counter were set up opposite the cot, but otherwise, it really didn’t work as a medical ward.  You pat at the cot while you search in the cabinets for the lotion that is usually stocked there for dry skin. Finding it, you turn to see Obi-Wan, shirt still on, laying on his stomach. _That won’t do at all._

You tut, placing the lotion down and flicking his ear. Obi-Wan hisses, looking at you with a scowl on his face. Rolling your eyes in response, you motion to his shirt, and when he doesn’t get the message you merely groan. _Any other man would have gotten it immediately. Obi-Wan isn’t any other man though, so it seems to keep being proven._

“I can’t give you a proper massage with your shirt on, Obi. Unless you’ve _never_ gotten a massage, most of the time – if you’re comfortable – they have you take off your shirt. Now take it off. I don’t want to make a mess of it,” you badger.

Once his shirt is off and he’s got his head on his folded arms, you straddle him on the – surprisingly large – cot, putting some lotion on your hands and pressing into the base of his neck. There was no need for you to say anything about how delicious he looked, spread out like this. There was absolutely no reason you might tell him he was very handsome for a man who couldn’t do a simple waltz. He sighs, tensing under your touch, but relaxing as soon as you whisper it’s okay. You’re at his lower back when his sighs turn to moans, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

You notice though, and it causes a very dark blush to rise on your cheeks. There were a number of times where you had given massages to people and they moaned, it wasn’t anything _new_ ; but something about the way _he_ moaned was different. More strained, like he had been holding it in for far too long. Focusing back on the task at hand – pun intended – you fight off the growing heat in your lower regions.

Your fingers are pressing into a knot right above his hips when he lets out a choked off gasp. At first, you think it’s just because the knot is tender, so you try not to press as hard, but that doesn’t seem to work either. Another breathy gasp comes from him, making you frown. Brows knitting together, you remove your hands, only for him to start stuttering out a complaint.

“D-don’t stop. Pl-please…feels good.”

Now you understand, eyebrows unknitting and shooting towards your hairline. A grin pulls on your lips as you nod to yourself, digging your thumbs back into that same spot. He moans again, back arching at the pressure you’ve applied. Your lips ghost over his shoulder, trailing up to his ear as he hums in satisfaction.

“Feeling better, Obi-Wan?” you murmur, laying a butterfly kiss to his temple.

He nods, letting out an unholy moan, a shiver running up his spine. As soon as you push down just a _little_ harder, his head is falling forward, digging into the cot while whimpers and pleads fall from his lips as he shakes. Working the area over, you keep going until he’s asking for you to stop, sounding worn out. You pull back, running your hands over his back slowly, working out the tension. Finding no more knots, you pat his shoulder and stand up. Obi-Wan is red faced when he sits up, making you smirk.

You never got a reaction like that out of the people you gave massages to, but you could take a few assumptions from this. Tapping your fingers against the counter top of the medical supplies, you grin to yourself. _Obi-Wan Kenobi is far too much._

Turning around to face him, you lean your forearms back against the counter top, waving a hand at his shirtless form. “I’m assuming a lot of that tension came from not having gotten off in a while?” He only grows redder, not answering your question. “It’s okay. I won’t go around telling anyone, so long as _you_ get your ass in gear with learning how to dance.”

He nods and you pat his head, tossing him his shirt. At the door, you turn to see him buttoning it up. It makes you pout, but you don’t let it get to you.

“Come on then, we’ve got practice to get to.”

* * *

 

Obi-Wan drags you through the crowds of people at the wedding reception, your laughter following him as he makes his way to the elevators. Inside one, he pushes you against one of the four walls, lips falling on yours with a passion you’ve never felt. This entire situation was rather humorous, but you don’t have time to think over how it happened, as you’re losing yourself in his kiss. Obi-Wan pants against your lips as he moves back in, tilting your head up so that he could reach your mouth easier, hand at the base of your throat.

“You’re driving me insane, Y/N. How is it that I can be so infatuated with you and yet hate you all at the same time?” he breathes, lips close enough to move yours as he speaks.

You both smile at his statement, devouring each other in another kiss as the elevator doors open. Fighting to make it to his hotel room, you both finally manage it, shoving the door open and falling inside. There’s no time to laugh over the irony of the whole thing; how the groom’s best man and the bride’s maid of honor are in the throes of passion. From there, clothes are falling off left and right, and you remember his beard chaffing the skin of your thighs.

There’s cursing, biting, moaning names and gripping hair. You know most certainly there will be beard burn on your skin the next morning, but neither of you seem to care. Words mingle with dragging skin on skin; with the gasping of breaths that plead and snap all in the same sentence. If there was anyone walking by, they’d likely think that animals were taking refuge in Obi-Wan’s room.

The crash comes when you two are tangled in bed after it all, breaths mingling in the shared space between you. His eyes are searching your face, fingers stroking over your cheek and down your neck, soothing the ache that came with hickeys. Your own eyes are closed, lashes brushing your cheekbones with every inhale that you take. You had fallen asleep almost immediately after both of you had come down from your highs, but Obi-Wan was captivated by you.

Dragging his thumb over your lips, he feels the inhales and exhales against his skin, his eyes scrunching in happiness. Whatever he was feeling right now was more than enough. After every lesson, every jeer, every fight, you were still the only person he wanted to see when he fell asleep and woke up. Running his fingers through your hair, he cups the back of your neck, drawing you into his chest. Your arms wrap around him, nose pressed to the hollow of his throat as you mumble something that sounds a lot like ‘I love you’. He chuckles, murmuring it back as he falls asleep, your heartbeats syncing somewhere in the middle of the night.  


End file.
